Take Me Home
by FogsRollingIn
Summary: "This wasn't like Detroit. He hadn't had everything he'd ever wanted at stake in Detroit." Yuuri's having a rough time settling into Saint Petersburg. Victor's there for him. Tags: angst, panic attacks, cuddling/snuggling, sharing a bed


The clock struck midnight and Yuuri stared at the ceiling in the dark trying to get his breathing under control. The lump in his throat wasn't going away; the sharp sinus twinges; his eyes prickling as he replayed his failures from practice today as though he was a spectator…

No - as if he was _Victor_ \- Victor watching from the sidelines, brow furrowed and wincing at the mess Yuuri was making on the ice.

Yuuri hadn't been able to land any his jumps well. Sloppy form. No rhythm.

Yuuri swallowed and squeezed his eyes shut trying to get Victor's disappointed expression out of his head.

Victor hadn't even looked at him like that in reality, Yuuri knew. When things had started going bad today, Victor had been harsh to Yuuri - shouting sharply over the sound of skates on ice to _do it again better, Yuuri, go!_ \- just like he always was when he was in coaching mode. But the minute Yuuri actually stumbled and risked a serious fall, Victor had been nothing but understanding. _Yuuri, come off the ice; you're getting tired and overextending your movements to compensate. It's not good, come on…_ to Yuuri's miserable form as he skated to the gate and stepped off onto the rubber flooring. Victor ordered him to take care of himself the rest of the day and Yuuri had nodded silently in shame, taking a seat to unlace his skates.

As Victor moved to sit next to him on the bench, Yuuri had watched his coach vanish before his eyes. Victor's posture relaxed, his eyes softened, and a gentle palm on Yuuri's back told him his fiance was there with him now.

Yuuri felt blessed to have Victor, who knew figure skating and knew _him_ well enough to hold back on any further supportive gestures. Figure skaters of their caliber didn't get where they did by accepting their errors or taking it easy on themselves when they made them.

Victor told him, his accented voice feather-soft, that he'd be staying at the rink to practice; Yakov was meeting him in an hour anyway.

Yuuri had been relieved. He loved Victor more than anything but he'd needed to get himself together and Victor wasn't exactly a center of quiet calm.

Unfortunately, the day hadn't gotten any better afterward. Instead of the quiet calm he sought, he found an inner conflict between utter loneliness and an aggressive disinterest in contacting anyone he knew. He walked around Saint Petersburg and mulled over the sense of loss and alienation he felt. As strange an observation as it was, he couldn't even eavesdrop on strangers and understand. He was cut off; isolated… and so stretched to the limit that when he'd stepped into Yamskie banya - the historic Saint Petersburg bath house Victor had taken him to their first week of living together - Yuuri nearly broke at his pathetic attempt to superimpose Hasetsu's warm, natural onsen over this building's sharp geometry and ornate interior. It'd felt like a… giant wealthy westerner's bathroom. Not a hot spring warmed by the earth; no soothing neutral color palettes or textures. Nothing familiar. Just tile and cement; cold whites and blues…

Yuuri's awareness - or was it paranoia? - had kicked in as he'd walked into the main men's bath on the third floor. Yuuri had bit his lip and wrung his hands at the judgmental looks and stirrings of the men luxuriating inside, one of whom turned to another muttering Russian with an unmistakable head tilt towards Yuuri before they broke into huffed grins and chuckles, sharing an inside joke. Likely at Yuuri's expense.

Yuuri couldn't have gotten out of there fast enough.

It wasn't like home. Nothing was.

Yuri had gone back to Victor's apartment - no, _their_ apartment - and picked up Makkachin for an early evening walk. He'd clenched his teeth and swallowed down the grief, watching Makkachin trot along sniffing and marking and looking so much like Vicchan that Yuuri's heart felt like it was breaking all over again. Makkachin loved Yuuri but he was still obviously Victor's dog: he preferred Victor's company and affections over anyone else's. Yuuri completely understood; Vicchan had been the same for him. Knowing this only seemed to make him feel worse, though.

When they got home, Yuuri gave Makkachin his well-deserved treat before he grabbed his laptop off the kitchen counter and headed for the bedroom. The poodle padded after him, jumping up and settling at the foot of the bed as Yuuri slipped under the covers and lost himself to stupid youtube videos before dropping off to sleep.

Yuuri had woken up briefly to the blurry sight of Victor directly in front of him, silently closing his laptop and setting it along the side of the bed. Yuuri pretended to be asleep when his fiance glanced back up. He sensed Victor linger by his side and distantly considered reaching out for him, but this wasn't Victor's problem. Yuuri could handle this on his own. He just… needed time. More sleep. Something like that. Something that wouldn't ask anything of Victor.

Yuuri must have actually fallen back asleep again because it felt like a split-second later Victor was climbing into bed next to him. He curled up close to the edge, hoping Victor understood the signal. His fiance settled and after a pause - a clear tacit wait for Yuuri to turn into him - he let out a long sigh and turned off his light before scooting deeper into bed. Every sensed sound and movement of Victor's held disappointment in it and Yuuri squeezed his eyes shut, balling himself up even more.

The clock had struck eleven and Yuuri was still up an hour later, staring at the ceiling, his coach and competitor and fiance's mere presence overwhelming him with the isolation and anxiety he'd been trying to cap off all day.

Yuuri acknowledged to himself that what happened today could feasibly happen tomorrow.

What would Victor look like - what would he say - when it did?

This could turn into a pattern. It's not like Yuuri could just suddenly learn Russian and feel completely at home here.

Where would he go when this didn't work out?

Back home? In failure. Again. But this wouldn't be like coming home from Detroit. This time he'd go home with full knowledge he'd had everything he'd ever wanted in his life at his fingertips and he'd blown it.

Going back to live and work at Yu-topia wouldn't be awful, but it'd be his very well-deserved punishment.

…Yuuri would have to watch Victor win the Grand Prix Final on TV in Hasetsu, probably getting drunk with Minako, enough to sob over everything he'd had and everything he'd lost...

Yuuri sucked a breath in and held it so he wouldn't make a sound, all too aware of how close Victor was, sleeping on, clueless to the wretched, reduced, dime-a-dozen skater he'd invited into his life - into his bed.

The tears came then and when Yuuri finally had to breathe, he clapped his hands over his mouth so his quick raspy inhales couldn't be heard. He blinked with alarm and confusion when they wouldn't stop: he was sucking in breaths as fast as possible but there just wasn't enough air in the room.

What the hell was happening?

"Mm…" Yuuri whimpered, finally scared enough to reach over. He could swear he was suffocating right then and there in their bedroom in Victor's apartment in Saint Petersburg, Russia… so far away from home with no one but Victor to even know he was gone if he died…

Yuuri scrambled delicate fingers over his fiance's form, "Vic… Victor?" he cried weakly.

Victor twitched at Yuuri's touch and muttered Yuuri's name in his sleep as he rolled over lazily.

"Victor!" Yuuri croaked between gasps, this time stronger, his hands grasping his fiance's arm and squeezing, "Help…"

"Yuuri?" Victor asked, voice scratchy and finally awake. Yuuri shook his head frantically, gasping with involuntary sobs.

"Yuuri!" Victor barked, launching himself across the space between them. Yuuri's chest hurt and he distantly heard Makkachin howling as his fiance wiped the tears streaming down his face. ""Makkachin, _net_!" and the dog fell into croaky whines, "Yuuri, what's wrong?!" Victor pleaded.

Before Yuuri could respond, Victor practically crushed his chest in an oblivious, uncoordinated bid for Yuuri's bedside lamp and Yuuri gagged with fear over the sensation.

The room filled with light. Yuuri blinked through it as he cried for Victor to get off him, pushing weakly against his shoulders and chest. Victor's knee settled quickly between Yuuri's legs on the mattress and he lifted his weight off so he was only bracketing him. Terrified, Yuuri wrapped his legs around Victor's, desperate for an anchor.

"Solnyshko," Victor wiped Yuuri's sweaty hair back, "what is it!?" he whispered urgently, his crystal blue eyes anxiously searching Yuuri's and Yuuri realized Victor was just as lost and scared as he was.

Yuuri grimaced, eyes stinging, throat sore, heart racing…

"Panic," Yuuri winced and swallowed, "attack," he exhaled heavily, looking up at his fiance with wide, frightened eyes.

Victor squinted and bit his lip.

"Vot blin," Victor muttered softly, "okay, Yuuri, it's okay, lyubov moya," he added, pressing a kiss to Yuuri's forehead before disappearing and leaving Yuuri on the bed.

"Victor!" Yuuri pitched, distressed. He vaguely heard his fiance opening the door and softly commanding Makkachin in Russian before closing it and then he was leaping back into bed with Yuuri.

"I'm here, I'm here, lyubov moya."

Yuuri's shaky hands felt for Victor, dug in and clutched at his t-shirt trying to pull him closer, and Victor cautiously lowered down against Yuuri again, though still keeping most of his weight off. Victor pressed his palm to Yuuri's rapidly beating heart.

"You need to relax, Yuuri. Your heart…" Victor trailed off with alarm. Yuuri squeezed his eyes shut and nodded as he wrapped his arms around Victor. Victor let out a soft "oomph" as Yuuri pulled him down further.

"Sorry," Yuuri gasped between swallows, winding his hand to the back of Victor's neck. "I'm… so sorry," he wept, his terror and contrition without an end or beginning here. He didn't have the sense to figure out what he needed to get out of this: he hadn't had a panic attack in years and none of his usual anchors back at home could help him now.

Yuuri felt Victor kiss his neck just below his ear. "No-no, do not apologize," Victor begged, his own voice brittle with emotion. "Solnyshko, can I turn you over on me?"

Yuuri's face screwed up with confusion as Victor's arms pushed under his back as if he was going to lift him. Understanding dawned then.

"Ye-yes," Yuuri squeaked and suddenly Victor had him wrapped tightly in his arms before a split-second flip that left Yuuri dazed how he came to be lying on top of his fiance now, chest to chest, his whole body still expanding and contracting under the stress of hyperventilating breaths.

Yuuri squirmed against his fiance as Victor brought the covers up over them. Victor raised his knees on either side of Yuuri, tenting the covers, as he lay back down and Yuuri scooted up against him, burrowing his face closer into the crook of Victor's neck. Victor wrapped his arms securely around his love and ducked his head low against Yuuri's.

"Victor," Yuuri sniffed, and Victor shushed him comfortingly as he started rubbing his back.

"I'm right here. I have you, lyobov moya," Victor whispered with a gentle hug. He moved his hand up to stroke Yuuri's hair. Yuuri was still panting, his heart beat rushing...

"Stay with me, Yuuri, pay attention to my heartbeat," Victor instructed softly. Yuuri gave a trembling nod and closed his eyes to listen beyond the sounds of his own ragged breathing. He shook as he tucked his head down lower against Victor so he could press his ear to his chest. He latched onto the steady rhythm of Victor's heart, zeroing in on the calming vibrations to stabilize him.

For several minutes, Yuuri endured quietly against his fiance as the attack eased, his soft cries beginning to fade under the sound of Victor's heart pulsing loud and strong and his gentle touches - rubbing his back and carding his fingers through Yuuri's hair. Victor spoke to him and that helped too even when Victor mixed his English with Russian Yuuri didn't understand - it didn't matter. Yuuri took comfort in Victor's deep, lyrical reassurances susurrating into his hear. _This will pass, lyobov moya; we will get through this; Ya tebya lyublyu - ya vsegda ryadom - I'm right here, Yuuri, I have you - you have nothing to fear, solnyshko. Count my heart beats…_

Tortured minute after minute, Yuuri slowly, painfully inched his way off the edge of the abyss his mind had been dangling him over.

His breath returned, his heart beat to match Victor's, and Yuuri finally melted down against his love, utterly exhausted.

Victor didn't stop rubbing his back or threading his fingers through his hair, but he did stop his whispers of encouragement and praise in favor of tender chaste kisses. After a few minutes of calm peace and stillness, Victor finally spoke up.

"What happened inside your head, my love?"

Yuuri twitched and winced, not knowing the right thing to say.

"I'm sorry," Yuuri replied wetly, "it was nothing…"

"U stráxa glazá velikí," Victor sighed, "what was it, lyobov moya? We're stronger together than apart."

"I…" Yuuri started then had to stop and think. He'd been about to say he felt alone, but now - resting secure and warm in Victor's arms - he realized he… didn't. Victor was his true love. Victor coupled with any ice rink in the world would be more than enough for Yuuri to find "home."

Yuuri slid out of his centered position on Victor, breaking his love's tight embrace, to lay on his back directly next to him, sharing the pillow.

"I was scared…" Yuuri tried to explain, blinking up at the ceiling again, "but now I'm not, Victor," he looked at his fiance with pure sincerity, "I promise."

Victor sighed, concern still deeply etched into his features, and twisted to his side, throwing a leg over Yuuri's knees under the covers.

Yuuri lifted his arm so Victor could get under it, but instead of settling down against Yuuri's chest like he expected, Victor propped himself up with his elbow for a second, hovering over him. He smoothed the pads of his fingers over Yuuri's forehead, feathered around Yuuri's red eyes and bitten lips, before looking deeply into his love's bright, glassy eyes.

"I'm still worried, Yuuri…" he said, dipping down to kiss Yuuri's cheek, "but let us sleep. We can talk more in the morning, yeah?"

Yuuri gulped and nodded.

"Okay," Yuuri agreed nervously, and let Victor get up over him to reach out and turn his bedside lamp off.

The room fell back into darkness and Victor took his place on his side against Yuuri. As nervous as Yuuri was about whatever they'd talk about tomorrow morning, Victor holding him as though precious and needed and-

"I love you, solnyshko," he murmured with a squeeze.

-and loved.

Yuuri couldn't be anxious anymore. Like Victor had said - they were stronger together.

Yuuri squeezed back.

"I love you too."

Sweet serenity fell over them for several minutes before the distinct sound of the most pathetic, sorrowful howl erupted from the other side of the door.

Despite everything, Yuuri and Victor dropped into laughter as Victor moved to go let Makkachin back in.


End file.
